rue-madame's Diaryland
Diary
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Butt seriously...
I have been "convalescing" for what seems like ages, but is really only 4 days. Even with a little Percocet, I cannot file the edges of my urge to be productive and it's hard trading in activity for indolence. Still, I soldier on. In between forcing myself to nap, I have been burning all of our cds to the hard drive of my G3, reading the Cheese Monkeys and Portrait of a Lady (funny combination, I know,) and ingesting massive quantities of crap magazines. I am slowly (it's the theme) making my way through a box of See's chocolates, and reintroducing normal food. I actually kind of liked my draconian pre-surgery diet of jell-o and clear fluids. In my fucked up once-bulimic brain, it made sense. I got off on simply smelling the tasty foods that Terence was cooking for himself and in my calorie-deprived state, I convinced myself that I could absorb nutrients through aroma. I felt floaty and simultaneously strong and weak. It got me thinking about fasting. Given how obsessive I can be about my health, it's surprising I never tried it before. I used to be all into herbs and vitamins and alternative diets and things. Somehow fasting was never on my radar. Well it is now. I kind of liked the deprivation and ascetic sacrifice. The one thing I can do without, however, is magnesium citrate as an elimination aid. I had to drink an entire 10 oz bottle at 4 o'clock the day before my surgery, and it was totally disgusting. At first, it was like a regular laxative. No biggie. Then it kicked into high gear, and I barely recognized what was coming out of my body. I swear to God I was on the pot every 15 mn. And it hurt like a mofo cause the magnesium citrate was so acidic. That said, I looked fucking hottt in my underwear (and then later, in my surgery gown.) It's no wonder all of the interns and residents were so friendly and nice in surgery. I was probably the cutest patient in a long-ass time. And I do mean ass time.
5:16 p.m. - 2004-08-10
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